


Nadir

by wabbajacked



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Character Study, First Kiss, Gen, Intoxication, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wabbajacked/pseuds/wabbajacked
Summary: A series of vignettes about Basim's youth.
Kudos: 7





	Nadir

On the bad days that were becoming more and more common for him, normalcy was something of a temptation. Perhaps not the _normal_ normal of people living ordinary lives out in the bustling streets and souqs of the city, but even a brotherhood like theirs had some baseline most of the members adhered to. Motions they went through. Habits they kept. The little rules of their hidden society, plain to everyone but him.

Trying to participate in these hidden social rituals had become something of an embarrassment to Basim, like something in him feared a misstep that would expose him to ridicule, even when the more rational part of his mind told him no one was paying that much attention to him, the thought of which had a sting of its own. The fear of sticking out was almost like an instinct imprinted deep into his mind, a defensive mechanism that seemed essential to survival. He never knew if others sensed that particular feeling so keenly, and he never knew if others sensed different things to the same degree he did either, as he could often hear whispered conversations so far they wouldn't stir other people, or make out the colors of one's finery in the shimmering haze of a far away horizon. Something always held him back from asking.

It was his inability to brush off that nagging feeling that brought him into the unfolding celebration on the upper floor of their headquarters. Their cell's mentor and his inner circle had been absent for the week, which left a few dai to overlook two dozen fedayeen and novices who were sailing a good mood brought on by a string of small victories, the first ones of the currently running campaigns. He hadn't been assigned to any of the missions, and the details, goals, and political implications of the targeted assassinations fled his mind, especially now that the atmosphere of the party was seeping in. Someone had smuggled in drink and hashish, and spiced cakes, all of which was already circulating among the gathered Hidden Ones, and the conspicuous absence of any of the elders who stayed behind meant they were turning a blind eye to this. Basim made note of that, trying to convince himself that this meant no one would get in trouble for it.

He still lurked at the very edge of the spacious gathering room with a softly carpeted floor, feeling like the heady cloud of smoke seeping through the air was shrouding him, hiding him from both the rays of the dying sun penetrating the space from the narrow, high windows, and from the eyes of his peers. It made him a little light-headed, and as much as he hated the intoxication lurking around the edges of his consciousness, he was thankful for the way it relaxed his muscles and pounding heart, made him care less about what the others would think or say.

The room was filled by a mottled crowd of gray and white robes, already having partitioned off into smaller groups for the gathering. There was music coming from a few novices who struck up an improvised gig in a corner, harmonizing a lively tune some others were bobbing their heads to. A trio nearby attempted to dance and entice anyone unfortunate enough to be close into doing the same. More of them piled onto the pillows strewn about the room for lounging, stretched out with a level of relaxation one could only aspire to, drink in hand, their chatter creating an almost buzzing noise overlaying the fever-pitch the music was building towards so early in the party. The group that was smoking in their own little gathering had a preternatural calm about them, their low conversation almost meditative if it weren't for the bouts of laughter they would collectively break out into.

Basim watched the few Hidden Ones who belonged to none of the groups, and he almost envied them. They either looked to be content by themselves, or had taken to flitting between the clustered groups, sampling whatever each had to offer before moving onto the next. And there were a few of the lonesome people prowling the place with intent, stealing off to the door of the library right next to it once they had picked out a willing partner among the celebrants. He knew very well what the others got up to between the dusty stacks of books, had walked in on people hiding behind shelves with their hands roaming under each other's robes countless times. The thought had him shifting in place.

Normal. All of what the people here were enjoying was normal, and he couldn't make himself take part in it. The thought of every celebration everywhere simply being the same came upon him, a hateful sourness washing over him with it. Drinks, empty talk, empty smiles. Basim was going to turn and flee back to the sleeping quarters, or better yet, out of the building entirely. He longed for some peace. Some distraction from the alienation that came with diving into his thoughts so deeply, the inevitable darkness and despair that would overcome him every time his efforts to keep it at bay sagged a little.

He considered the table with drinks, eyeing it covertly. He had experienced black-out drunkenness only once in his life, and the experience had left him ill and ridden with a deep sense of religious guilt. That was one of the taboos that was hard to shake, even if his faith had been in tatters for a long time and the atmosphere in the brotherhood was rather relaxed about such things. He was sure to make a fool of himself once drunk to boot. The hashish wasn’t much of a temptation either once he recalled his last few times trying it, and the excruciating feeling of his sanity peeling away layer by layer with every inhale, the experience being nothing like what he heard from other people. The music was starting to grate on him, and he didn’t really feel like talking to anyone. It was time to leave. 

Just as he was about to act and get lost, one of the Hidden Ones belonging to his age cohort was in front of him, bright hazel eyes friendly, putting an earthen cup of wine in his hand as an in to start talking to him. He recalled seeing him around and trying to strike up conversation before. Even at the distance he could smell the fruity sharpness of the drink sloshing in the cup, and the fresh scent of the man's laundered robes. The name of his fellow Hidden One escaped him entirely, and so did the excuse of not drinking that was right at the tip of his tongue. He let the excuse evaporate. After all, he was not one to look at a fulfilled prayer too closely. It was a chance to entertain himself, and the man wasn’t that bad looking, with his easy smile and full lips. The decision that this would do for tonight, trying something new, was made in a split-second. The impulsive thought was an excessive indulgence for someone like him.

  
  


He held onto the drink as if he had any intention of drinking it, and allowed his companion's clumsy conversation and clumsier touches on his arm and waist. It seemed like the right thing to do, and after he had enough of nodding along and pretending he cared, tugged the man towards the library. He hadn't missed the surprised expression that fell upon his partner, eyes almost comically wide and a blush stealing over his cheeks. It was almost revolting in its innocent joy, so he turned his face away from it, and led the man to find a spot among the same books he studied in his free time, ignoring any looks they might have gotten on the way, whether they were imagined or supportive or judging. He was sure the last of the people using the library for adolescent pawing at each other had left, leaving the space currently unoccupied.

  
  


The man with him was going to say something once they got to the quiet of the empty library and out of sight of anyone who might come in, but Basim cut him off with a kiss. He hadn't cared for what the man had to say before, and he didn't care now. All he was aware of was how clumsy his own kiss was, and how kindly the man with him responded, not commenting on Basim's inexperience or pulling back, instead simply guiding the kiss with a hand on his cheek and jaw. Basim closed his eyes, trying to savor the physicality of it, the stubble grazing against his face, feeling out what it was the people enjoyed in this, trying to see outside of himself instead of always gazing inwards.

He allowed himself to touch his companion, his trim waist framed by a silky red sash, Basim’s hand following the line of his body over the sash and down to his hip. It stirred a warmth in him, and he could feel the difference in the other man as well, how it made his breath come faster and his kisses more heated. Basim found himself lucky to be a fast learner, for the kissing had become somewhat less sloppy, and he made a noise of disappointed protest when his partner's lips pulled away. He didn't have to wait for long, though, because soon they moved over Basim's jaw and onto his neck.

The change had Basim torn, the goosebumps that sprung up over his arm certainly a reaction to the pleasure of it, but the sudden thought of being made to submit in a way made him hesitate, the position feeling like he was baring his neck to someone else's command. His roaming hand on his partner's robe became a hand clenched in the fabric of it, ready to push him away if necessary. Then his partner's mouth came upon the birthmark etched upon Basim's skin, and he froze up entirely.

It was a feeling like no other. Not necessarily like the stirrings of a sexual desire, but a wash of almost paralyzing pleasure, like someone else rubbing out a knot in a muscle, like a feather-light brush right across the skin, or having one's scalp rubbed, all at once, and a thousand times more potent. But in a moment, it changed from that to an all-encompassing vulnerability, the mark almost like the soft spot on the top of a baby's head, its skull not having healed together all the way to protect the brain--

He pushed the man away, making him stumble, the sweet aroma of wine tasted from his partner’s lips earlier turning sour in Basim's mouth. Basim read the confusion on his face, and the apologies on the man's lips only served to make Basim feel ashamed of his outburst.

"I have better things to do than have you slobber over me all day," Basim piled the insult onto the man defensively, aware of how harsh he was being for no good reason. He could see his words hurt the man, and he was pleased that the cruel jab had masked his own embarrassment. "I should've known better than to pick you of all people."

He didn't wait for a reply, nor did he think of going back to the gathering room where the party was continuing to unfold. Instead, he marched towards one of the windows, breathing deeply to calm down, to banish both the pleasant sensations still lingering in his mind and the dread that crept up on him without warning. Basim climbed out over a rooftop -- away from the music, away from the voices, away--

  
  


\--from himself. Into the safety of the scattered voices of a fairy tale celebration that haunted his dreams more and more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking a look at this for me @Illegible_Scribble


End file.
